Her Initials on His Mistress's Wrist

I would make that shameless pair pay for everything.

Just as my thoughts began to race, a message notification lit up my screen.

I took a deep breath and opened it.

It was from my business rival, Veronica Blackwood. We’d been at each other’s throats since high school.

"Well, look who it is. Still alive. I thought you’d suffocated in a pile of your own coffee beans. Your husband is about to propose to his ‘new fiancée’ at the Innovative Entrepreneur awards gala tonight. The grand finale, I hear."

As my long-time rival, I knew she was messaging me to gloat, but there was an undercurrent of something else in her taunt.

I ignored her sarcasm and replied with a single word, "Address."

She scoffed. "So you're not a complete idiot after all. I'll be waiting for the show."

An address came through instantly—The Grand Ballroom at the Peninsula Hotel.

I glanced at the location. It was only an hour's drive away. The sheer audacity, to do this so brazenly, so close to home.

A cold laugh escaped me. His new fiancée?

The nerve of him. How could his legal wife possibly miss an event this exciting?

I drove to the address immediately. The moment I got in the car, a message from Garrett popped up.

[Honey, you're not home? I was trying to check on the cat through the living room camera but didn't see you. I'm preparing my speech for tonight and feeling a bit nervous.]

All his recent concern, his constant worrying about my health and state of mind... it was all a front. He was terrified I’d blow up his little scheme or find out he was moving assets.

I replied with a photo, a cold smile on my face.

[Ida's here. We're having coffee downstairs.]

Less than a second later, Garrett replied.

[You'd better stick to juice. The doctor said caffeine isn't good for you right now.]

He even attached a photo of himself at some networking event. What a consummate actor. The Academy owed him an Oscar.

For years, he had meticulously reported his whereabouts to me, cultivating the image of a devoted husband. I never once doubted him.

The Peninsula Hotel is a Chicago landmark. An event this high-profile demanded an ironclad security system. But I held a Montgomery black card, and the hotel's general manager had a long-standing debt to my father.

Through the crystal-clear surveillance feed in the security control room, I watched Garrett guide Sienna through the throng of guests.

His arm was wrapped possessively around her waist as they toasted with the other attendees.

Sienna wore a long Oscar de la Renta gown, its silver-white fabric shimmering under the spotlights.

I recognized that gown.

Garrett had shown me a picture of it last month, murmuring, "This would look perfect on you."

And yet, here it was, on another woman.

They were chatting with several influential guests. I recognized one, Grant Wallace, an investor Garrett and I had courted together.

Sienna nodded and smiled, playing the role of the demure, supportive partner to perfection. Garrett gazed at her with undisguised adoration.

They looked for all the world like the blissful couple on the verge of their happily ever after.

Just then, Sienna touched her stomach and whispered something to Garrett. He immediately bent down, listening intently, before a wide, ecstatic grin split his face, as if he’d just heard the greatest news of his life.

He tenderly tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. The people around them laughed and raised their glasses in congratulations.

Grant patted Garrett’s shoulder, looking overjoyed.

Watching the scene unfold, I was suddenly reminded of what my family doctor, Dr. Evans, had told me a month ago: "Camila, don't lose hope. You will have a child eventually."

At the time, Garrett had held my hand, comforting me gently.

"Don't worry, we have our whole lives ahead of us. Even without children, having you is more than enough for me."

And now, here he was, about to become a father—and the mother wasn't me.

On the live feed, the crowd gathered as the host kicked off the event. Garrett was invited on stage to share his journey as an entrepreneur who had triumphed over adversity.

Then, he actually brought Sienna on stage. He waxed poetic about how they met—conveniently omitting the real timeline—describing how she had been his rock through countless late nights as he wrestled with his projects.

"She is my sun, the source of all my energy."

The crowd erupted in fervent applause, celebrating their beautiful love story. It seemed they had all chosen a collective amnesia—conveniently forgetting that Garrett was a married man, and that his wife had, at some point, helped nearly every person in that room.

How utterly ridiculous.

Listening from the security room, I had to admit, his saccharine performance was almost convincing.